


At the End of the Day (Or Even When the Day is New)

by bricoleur10



Category: Leverage
Genre: Denial, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bricoleur10/pseuds/bricoleur10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot learns how to share his bed, and maybe even his life, with Hardison. Set Season 3-4ish.<br/>Spoilers for The Carnival Job and The Grave Danger Job</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of the Day (Or Even When the Day is New)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote a whole bunch of Leverage fic back in the day, and it's just been withering away on my laptop, so I decided to get it out there, finally, and see what other people might make of it. Hope you enjoy!

**At the End of the Day (Or Even When the Day is New)**

Eliot doesn’t like sleeping with other people. 

Sex, sure, he’s all for that. He likes sex just about as much as he likes hitting and scowling, maybe more. He’ll take sex anyway he can (pretty much – he’s a horn dog but he’s not, like, super weird or anything).   
But sleeping with other people? The actual physical act of sharing a bed? He’s not really a fan. 

So the first time him and Hardison do it – sex, that is – he sneaks out the door after the younger man’s asleep. Well, sneak isn’t accurate, because he hadn’t been trying not to get caught. Just...laying next to Hardison had felt nice, maybe even a little calming, and he’d kind of forgotten to leave earlier.

So by the time he does the hacker’s already fast asleep and snoring into the pillow. 

Eliot doesn’t feel guilty about it. 

Not one bit. 

\--

Hardison doesn’t call him on it. Doesn’t say a damn word about it, actually, and that leaves Eliot feeling relieved. Logically, he’s very relieved. Mentioning it, talking about it, that would have made it a thing. And Eliot hates things. 

Not so logically, though, he’s a little peeved at the younger man’s lack of reaction. The kid can’t keep his mouth shut about anything, ever. Except apparently this, because by Eliot’s observations not even Parker’s heard about it yet and that’s just...

Whatever, he decides at the start of their next job. 

It’s what-fucking-ever. 

\--

Punching people creates a certain kind of momentum. 

Sometimes, when the fight ends earlier than he’d like because the guys go down too easy or because Nate calls stop for some reason, the momentum is still there. It hasn’t always been like this. Before Nate and the team the fights had been harder, faster, more dangerous, more draining, and by the end of any given job he’d be lucky to be standing – forget about leftover momentum. 

Now the fights are just as hard (for the most part), just as fast (he makes sure of that), just as dangerous (because the second you start thinking they’re not, you die), but not quite as draining. There aren’t as many of them, and he’s got other people helping him now. Which is all well and good, he knows, but it’s this momentum. His body wants to keep going and going and going, until he’s out; too out to care about anything else. 

He supposes he could explain all this to Hardison. The kid is standing there staring at him like he’s a damn loon for knocking on his door at three in the morning (he hadn’t been asleep. His breath stinks of that carbonated orange stuff he drinks and Eliot can still see the indent on his arm from where it’s been resting on a table in front of a computer) and Eliot could explain all of that, whether Hardison would understand it or not. He could. 

But Hardison talks enough for the both of them, anyway, and Eliot finds it a lot easier to just show him instead.

\--

Eliot growls, “Stop it,” the second time Parker pokes at his injuries and, to his surprise, she does. 

Hardison had suggested a hospital but Eliot had just shaken his head. “I hired a nurse.” 

Gail isn’t exactly a nurse, but she’s not exactly who the others probably think she is, either. He doesn’t glance at Hardison on his way out the door – though he does throw a smirk at Nate for good measure. 

Eventually the others will figure out about him and Sophie, and Eliot’s dreading that conversation. 

“You look like shit, Spencer.” Gail tells him when they clear the bar. He collapses into her car and grunts. 

“Nice to see you, too, sunshine,” he comments back, flashing her a genuine smile. 

“You’re lucky I was in the area,” she comments, climbing into the driver’s side and revving to life her perfectly mundane midsize Sedan. 

“Woulda called Jack if ya weren’t.” Eliot says. And, barring that, he would have dealt with the injuries alone. They aren’t bad, considering some of the ones he’s had, but sometimes...sometimes it’s about more than just dealing with it. Sometimes, after a fight, he doesn’t like to be alone. 

Gail gets that. Hardison, Parker, Nate, and Sophie don’t. He’s not ready to say something like that out loud to any of them. Maybe he never will be. 

“I think that tall guy glaring daggers at me all the way out of the bar would have been just as put out by him, if not more so.” Gail says it easy enough, and Eliot snorts. 

“He don’t care who I go home with.” 

“Like shit he doesn’t.” Gail snorts back. “I saw him for two seconds and I could tell that, Spencer. You’re a thick-headed, stubborn asshole with a seriously screwed up sense of self worth.” 

“You’ve been tellin’ me that for years.” He leans his head back and sighs, closing his eyes as her car takes them back to his place. 

“You also don’t listen.” She’s rolling her eyes; Eliot can hear it in her tone. “So,” she says after a few silent beats, when it becomes obvious that Eliot has nothing more to say on the subject of Hardison. “How bad is it?” 

“Need a few stitches, got a concussion.” He shrugs and then grunts, his body not liking the movement. 

“Nauseous?” 

“Just a bit,” he tells her. “Haven’t thrown up.” 

“Thick-headed,” she mutters. 

“Helps in this line of work.” He points out. 

“Ribs?” 

“Probably cracked,” he says, “Not broken, far as I can tell.” 

“Do I even wanna know what happened this time?” She asks, an invitation if Eliot’s ever heard one. 

He thinks about Roper, Molly, and the house of mirrors. 

“Nah,” he says casually, taking a deep a breath as his injuries will allow him. “It’s a pretty dull story.” 

\--

“Hey, Spencer,” Gail’s voice wakes him up the next morning, and his body’s stopping him before he can take a swing. Whether that’s from pain or the familiarity of Gail’s voice he’s not really sure. 

“What?” He grunts, rolling over with a hiss. Everything hurts, from the stitched together flesh of his hand down to the ankle he’d landed on funny by the Spider Ride, and everything in between. 

“That tall guy who don’t care who you go home with?” She’s sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, and despite her patronizing tone, her hand is brushing the hair back from his face in a near gentle way. “He’s here, caring a whole hell of a lot about who you went home with.” 

“Nah.” Eliot rasps, sitting up further and taking controlled breaths. “We probably got a job.” 

“If your boss expects you to do any hittin’ today I’mma go over there and hit him,” Gail says lightly. “Also, we both know you’re wrong, and I have to get going anyway.” 

She leans forward and brushes a light kiss against his forehead (yes, that hurts, too. But he doesn’t mind). “Call me sometime when you aren’t fucked up from a fight, okay? Maybe you and your tall guy friend can take me out to lunch.” 

She stands up and makes it halfway to the door in the time it takes Eliot to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hardison.” 

“Say again?” Gail turns around and cocks her head. She knows exactly what he’s saying, but she’s a coy son of a bitch like that – and kind of like Sophie, too. 

“The tall guy,” Eliot mocks, gritting his teeth through the pain of stretching out his legs before he even attempts to stand. “His name’s Hardison.” 

“Hardison, then.” She smiles at him. “You and Hardison can take me out to lunch.” 

He smiles, too. “Don’t count on it.” 

But they both do.

\--

“Nurse, huh?” Hardison won’t meet his eyes when he comes into the bedroom. Eliot still hasn’t stood up. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Eliot sighs. “Hey, man,” 

Hardison looks at him then, waiting for the next part of the sentence. 

Eliot needs help getting from his bed to the bathroom. He knows his knee is screwed to hell and won’t support his weight if he stands on it right now; getting anywhere is going to involve the hazardous use of furniture and walls as crutches, or he’s going to need someone’s shoulder. 

Hardison’s tall, and strong enough to get him around for a while, but when he opens his mouth to ask for help...well, he opens his mouth to ask for help.   
And that stops him cold. 

“What?” The hacker asks, halfway between pissed and concerned. 

“Nothing,” he snaps harshly. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

“I dunno,” the taller man shrugs. “Just wanted to...see if you...”

“If I what, Hardison?” Eliot growls. “What do you want?” 

“Y’know what?” The hacker puts his hands up and steps back. “Nothin’. I don’t want a damn thing.” 

And then he leaves. 

Eliot shouldn’t care as much as he does. 

He shouldn’t care at all. 

\--

Getting to the bathroom had been easy enough, and he’d gone right back to bed after, disappearing into sleep for a few hours (he doesn’t check to make sure Hardison had locked the door when he’d left. It doesn’t occur to him, doesn’t even register as a possibility that he hadn’t). 

Later that afternoon he wakes up again, makes it to the bathroom alright again, but when he tries to limp out to the kitchen for a glass of water (and maybe a Vicodin or two) his hand slips off the hall table he’d been using to support his weight and he goes down bodily, taking the table and a nearby framed picture with him. 

He doesn’t remember passing out (just some blinding pain and a sound that may or may not have been a scream), but when he wakes up it’s to someone’s voice. And the voice is familiar, his brain knows that much, but his body is reacting anyway. His reflexes are dulled, though, and the person – whoever it is – blocks his weak-willed fist with barely any effort. 

“Hey, Eliot, it’s okay.” His head is in someone’s lap. He tastes blood. 

“Wha-” He opens his eyes and sees blonde hair on one side of his face, like a curtain.   
For a brief, twisted moment he thinks he’s back in Oklahoma. 

“You’re okay,” the voice says again. Parker. The voice is Parker. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” He asks. He tries to move then, and the pain in his side, combined with the somewhat more muted pain of his other injuries, remind him. 

“Don’t try to move yet.” She warns him. “If you fall over I won’t be able to catch you.” 

He blinks up at her, waiting for her face to come into focus. “Why...” 

“Because you’re bigger than me.” She rolls her eyes. 

He half smiles. “Why are you here?” 

“Oh,” she licks her lips and brushes some of his hair away, just like Gail had done earlier. “I saw you fall down. And then you didn’t get back up.” 

“You were watching me?” He can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised or just feels like he should be surprised. 

“Hardison said you were hurt and that your hooker left, but he was mad and didn’t want to stay.” 

Eliot has a response or two to the string of words that just came out of the tiny blonde, but he’s tired and in pain and doesn’t care right now about any of that. If they think Gail’s a hooker or if Hardison’s pissed (but apparently not too pissed to tell Parker to keep an eye on him), that Parker can keep an eye on him, or that she’d gotten into his house. He doesn’t give a damn about any of it right now. 

He makes a move to stand, despite Parker’s vehement protests, and after a few tries, with the tiny thief providing just enough leverage, he manages to make it to his feet. 

“You shouldn’t be moving.” She says again. 

“Need to get some sleep,” he mumbles through the pain. 

It takes some time, but they make it back to his bedroom. He vaguely hears the sound of the front door opening and he tenses at it, but when he meets Parker’s gaze he knows it’s alright. Whoever’s here is supposed to be and Parker can deal with them. 

He goes back to sleep. 

\--

“You take pain pills?” Are the first words out of Hardison’s mouth when the hitter focuses his gaze on him. 

He blinks a few times just for good measure. “Yeah.” He voice is raspy and thick with disuse and pain. 

Hardison hands him a glass of water and an open bottle. Vicodin, but not the ones from his own medical supply closet. That observation means something, but Eliot’s too out of it to figure out what. 

He takes the pills and drinks the water. “Thought you were pissed at me,” he says when his head hits the pillow again and everything’s spinning. 

“I was,” the hacker agrees. “Still kinda am. But Parker was getting bored and I couldn’t leave you here alone, apparently.” The because you’ll do something stupid like try to walk and fall over again goes without saying. 

“Yes you could have.” Eliot feels the need to point out. 

“Yeah, I guess I could have,” he agrees after a beat. “But what kinda guy would I be if I did that.” 

Eliot laughs. “The normal kind.” 

Hardison’s quiet for a long moment and Eliot closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see whatever expression the other man is sporting. 

“You’ve got a fucked up definition of normal.” He finally says, all quiet and meaningful. 

Eliot doesn’t respond; just lets the steady rhythm of Hardison’s breathing lull him back into sleep. 

\--

Next time he does let Hardison help him to the bathroom, though he doesn’t ask for it. 

\--

The time after that he does ask. Hardison doesn’t say anything about him being weak or pathetic; just stands up and does what Eliot asks, letting the hitter dictate their movements. 

\--

“I’m sorry I was a dick earlier.” He says at some point. 

Hardison nods, waits a beat, and then asks, “Was Nurse Gail a hooker?” 

Eliot swallows. Make or break. It takes him a scarily short moment to decide. “No.” 

The hacker nods a few times. “Did you have sex with her?” 

“I couldn’t have sex right now if I wanted to.” 

Hardison smiles a little, though it’s stilted. “Did you want to?” 

Eliot groans. 

“I mean, is she...” 

“She’s an old friend.” Eliot answers all of the younger man’s unasked questions. “We’ve hooked up before, but we’re too much alike. Our relationship is more about give and take. She gives me names and I take guys out, that sorta thing.” 

“So she’s a hitter?” 

“Something like that.” Eliot agrees, because describing Gail’s chosen profession to someone not in the same line of work is hard, and painful, and he doesn’t want to bother with it right now and he doesn’t want to give that to Hardison ever. 

“So you just called her because you were hurt?” 

“Yeah,” Eliot exhales, relieved. “Yeah, that’s all.” 

But Hardison falls silent again, and Eliot’s left feeling like he’s hurt the younger man more with those words than he ever could have with his fists, and he doesn’t know why. 

\--

Eventually his injuries heal and Hardison goes back to his own apartment, leaving an empty place on Eliot’s couch that the hitter doesn’t think too hard about. 

It’s better like this. Better not to get attached. 

Nothing he creates with these people is really going to last. He’s not so much a member of their team as he is a shield around it, protecting them but never truly joining them. They’re all family, but family is fleeting, and it’s better to always keep at least one foot out the door. He’ll leave before this whole thing falls apart. He’ll leave – soon. 

He’s been telling himself these things for the better part of four years. 

He forgets when exactly he stopped believing them. 

\--

Things are back to some abridged version of normal when they get the case with the funeral scam and the lady who’s selling dead people’s identities to he doesn’t know who yet. 

He should have known, and that’s the kicker. 

Five years ago he would have known in an instant, but it takes a knife with their emblem on it for it to click this time around. 

By then Hardison’s missing and he’s screaming at Nate because even though it’s not really the older man’s fault Eliot could have done something if he’d just been there, dammit. 

Maybe it’s a little bit Nate’s fault. 

“There’s thirty minutes of oxygen in that coffin, Nate.” The second he says it his brain switches, his emotions are gone, and he’s engaged. 

Find Hardison. Get Hardison out alive. Team unit. Team mentality. Parker and Sophie can handle Hardison on the phone; Eliot will work on everything else. And if he hits that Mexican man just a little too hard for him to ever get back up again, well, that’s what he gets for burying Eliot’s teammate alive. 

Two minutes and counting when he hears the gunshots in the graveyard. By the time he gets there Nate’s jumping into the hole and Parker’s already shot the coffin. As soon as Eliot sees those holes he’s disengaged. 

Immediate threat terminated. 

Mission accomplished. 

Then Hardison’s above ground again and Eliot...well, he doesn’t really remember pulling the younger, taller man into a bone crushing hug, but when he’s there, in Eliot’s arms and breathing, alive, and safe, he warns him, “Don’t do that again, man, don’t ever do that again.” 

And Hardison says he won’t. 

Eliot wants to believe him more than he’s ever wanted to believe anything else in his entire life. 

He doesn’t. 

\--

“I...I couldn’t sleep.” Hardison offers in lieu of a greeting when Eliot pulls his door open that night. 

Eliot squints. “What about Parker?” He hadn’t meant to ask that, really. He knows it’s cold, and selfish, and bordering on mean. But he wants to know. He has a feeling that tonight is going to be different, is going to mean something more than the sex or anything else they’ve done, and he needs to know before that. 

“Me and Parker are friends, Eliot.” The hacker sighs. “Very good friends.” 

He nods. “She trusts you.” 

“She trusts you, too.” 

“She likes you.” 

“She likes...the idea of me.” Hardison shakes his head a little. “And she knows that. We talked about it. She...she’s never trusted anyone, before us, and she’s just really starting to do that now, y’know. She doesn’t want me. I just helped her realize that there are things, people out there like me that she does want. Someday. Maybe.” 

Eliot nods and takes a breath. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“What do you want?” 

Hardison lets his head lull to the side, rests it on the doorframe. “I want to come inside, Eliot. That’s all. I just want to come in.”

Eliot closes his eyes, takes a deep breath like he’s about to dive headfirst into something he can’t possibly predict, and opens the door just wide enough for Hardison to get through. 

\--

“It’s okay,” Eliot climbs into bed next to Hardison (despite his internal pledge to stay away) and wraps himself around the younger man, leaving his arms free and unconfined. “You’re okay, man,” he whispers in his ear, rolling them both over, mostly so Hardison can feel that he has that range of motion. “You’re not buried. You’re fine. I’m right here. Nothing bad is gonna happen, alright? You’re fine now.” 

And Hardison must believe him, because he settles back into sleep without another sound; the way he curls into Eliot and holds on tight the only indication that something deep in his subconscious might still be afraid. 

Eliot wants to leave after Hardison drifts off again. He doesn’t like sleeping with people – any people – but Hardison makes this tiny whimpering sound when the hitter tries to disconnect their limbs and Eliot just stops. 

Maybe sharing a bed with someone won’t be the worst thing. 

\--

“Sorry,” Hardison says the next morning. “I know I musta woken you up a few times.” 

Eliot thinks about playing it off like a joke, but he sees the genuine regret and fear in Hardison’s eyes, before the hacker glances quickly away, and can’t bring himself to.   
Instead, he leans in close and kisses the curve of Hardison’s jaw. “Don’t be sorry.” 

\--

“I want you guys to be happy.” Parker tells him the next time she sees him. 

Eliot does a double take and squints. “Whaddya goin’ on about?” 

He’s at a grocery store near his house picking up a thing or two, Hardison’s back home (at Eliot’s place, he means. Of course), and while the hitter feels like he should be surprised that Parker had popped up next to him in the frozen food section, he’s really just not. 

“You and Hardison,” she shrugs but smiles, “I want you guys to be happy.” 

He studies her closely, and eventually smiles back. “We will be.” 

“You will?” She questions it, and Eliot reevaluates his words. 

“Nah,” he changes his answer, tone surprisingly light to his own ears. “I guess we already are.” 

\--

“Ya ready for bed?” Hardison asks a few months later. They’re well past the point of pretending to debate the possibility of the hacker going back to his own place. 

Eliot shakes his head, gesturing at the TV. “Wanna see the end of this.” 

“It’s Rudy,” Hardison comments. “You’ve seen it, like, five thousand times.” 

But they both know that this is the first time in months that he’s watched it, and they both know why. Hardison settles back into his side without another word, but when the hacker lets out a yawn a few minutes later Eliot feels a touch of guilt. 

“You can go on ahead,” he offers. “I’ll be in when it’s over.” 

Sometimes he still has a problem going to sleep with someone beside him. Sometimes he has nightmares, lashes out at Hardison in his sleep, and feels guilty for days about the bruises he sees on the other man’s skin. 

Sometimes Hardison has nightmares, too; but where Eliot’s instincts put him automatically on the offensive, Hardison’s have him curling and clawing until he feels Eliot around him. Sometimes he’ll wake up gasping and yelling if he can’t find the hitter in his sleep thrashings. That leaves Eliot feeling pretty damn guilty, too. 

When he says I’ll be in when it’s over they both know he’s telling the truth, because he still has a problem going to sleep with someone beside him sometimes, but he’s never lied to Hardison, and they both trust that he’s not about to start now. 

“Nah,” the younger man says anyway, stretching out to make himself more comfortable on the couch. “This feels pretty good.” 

“We’re not doing anything,” Eliot points out, one eye and half an ear on the movie he knows by heart. 

“Yeah,” Hardison yawns once more and curls further into his side. “I know.” 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely wouldn't mind hearing what you thought.


End file.
